


Nothing's going to change?

by gently69



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:49:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gently69/pseuds/gently69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case, two friends ... business as usual?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing's going to change?

**Author's Note:**

> Did this for the BBC Sherlock Fan Forum Secret Santa Fic Exchange 2014 for mrshouse.  
> It's my first fan fic ever. Also the first story ever in English language.  
> So don't be too strict with me. ;-)  
> Enjoy!

“You can’t be serious.” Sherlock declared, examining a few indefinable pieces of meat under his microscope which John preferred not to know the origin of.

“I’m serious as anybody can be. Why not, Sherlock?”

Now Sherlock looked up, gazing at John, eyebrows raised. “Do you really expect me to take part in this `happiness, party hats and we-all-love-each-other´-Christmas-thing?”

“Oh, come on, Sherlock. It’ll be just a little party with friends on Boxing Day. Some snacks and drinks, nice chats, a laugh.”

“Spending time with your friends? Not really my area.”

John became a bit angry. “Wrong, Sherlock. Not my friends, our friends! Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, Mike. Maybe even Mycroft.”

Sherlock looked at John in an arrogant way.

“Mycroft? Do you really believe that,” He suddenly stopped, leaned back in his kitchen chair and put his fingertips together in front of his face like he always did when he was thinking about something.

“What?” John didn’t like that reaction, not now. In private it was rarely followed by something nice.

“If you are really able to convince Mycroft,” Sherlock spoke his thoughts out loud, “to spend some of his spare time with us rather than with those boorish newspaper readers. That could be a challenging treat indeed.” He gave John a smirk.

John cleared his throat. “Right. We have a deal then?”

“Yes, we have.” Sherlock grabbed one of the Petri dishes with meat. “By the way, do you need the microwave today?”

\---

The next morning John was already dressed when Sherlock entered the kitchen, still in his pyjama pants, t-shirt and dressing gown, his feet bare. John was sitting at the kitchen table, half-eaten breakfast and a cup of coffee in front of him. He looked lost in thoughts, turning a small item in his fingers. Sherlock also got himself a cup of coffee and sat down opposite John. Only then did John become aware of him.

“I’ll never understand why you get up this early on a Sunday morning, John.”

John snorted. “It’s Saturday and around eleven a.m. already.”

“Oh, is it?”

They fell silent again. John continued playing with the item, an amulet with Celtic symbols as Sherlock discovered. “What is that?” he asked after a while.

“Oh this: it’s just a little talisman. My grandmother gave it to me when I was fifteen. She told me it’s a symbol for admiration and love and someday if I have met the right one - one who really deserves my love - I should pass it on.”

“So you haven’t found the right person yet?”

“Well, I think I have.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Do I know that person already?”

“Yeah you do.” John suddenly got up, let the amulet slide into his trouser pocket and put his plate and cup on the cupboard next to the sink. “Right. I still have a few things to settle. Think I’ll be back sometime in the afternoon. If you consider eating anything for lunch, there’s some chicken curry left in the fridge. But I would advise you to clean the microwave before using it. And feel free to wash the dishes.”

John grabbed his jacket and left. Sherlock stared after him a little bit puzzled and sipped at his coffee.

\---

Sherlock spent the day with his experiments, researching on the internet and updating his website. He even ate the chicken curry, but of course didn’t care about the washing up.

Though he was busy all the time he felt bored. Nothing really interesting happened, no convenient murder or even any other crime. He hated staying at home all day if it wasn’t for a very good reason. After writing a short essay about the speed of growth of maggots in corpses for his website in the early afternoon he had nothing to do and started moving restlessly through the living room and the kitchen. Oh, how he hated this peaceful pre-Christmas period.

As he started to arrange his books on the shelves once again, his mobile alerted him to a text. He nearly leapt to the kitchen table where it was lying. A message from John: “host taking britsh bank euston rd I am in ther”

 

While he was impatiently directing the cab to Euston Road Sherlock received two more text messages from John, peppered with spelling errors, telling him that there were three masked and armed men and that a security guard had been shot. Sherlock didn’t answer because he didn’t want to sell John out with the sound.

He waited for more messages but his mobile stayed silent. That fact made him extremely nervous.

When he reached Euston Road he could already see police barriers. He jumped out of the cab, threw a £20 note at the driver without really caring how much he actually had to pay and ran to the barriers. He tried to spot someone familiar. Yes, there he was.

“I need to speak to Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he demanded. The young police officer closest to him answered hesitantly, “Sorry sir, but that’s not possible at the moment.”

“Tell him Sherlock Holmes is here.” As the police man didn’t react Sherlock added louder, “Now!”

It looked like the police officer wanted to respond but as he saw Sherlock’s penetrating look he changed his mind, nodded to a colleague and went to Lestrade. Sherlock could see the Detective Inspector looking in his direction, shaking his head resignedly and saying something to the young lad who returned and lifted the barrier tape. “It’s okay, Sir.”

“Of course it is,” Sherlock murmured.

He hurried to Lestrade who offered him an unfriendly greeting. “What are you doing here?”

“I was around. Police sirens everywhere, so I thought I’d have a look.”

This was an explanation Lestrade didn’t accept. “Did you listen to the police radio?”

“You know I have my sources. There are three armed men in the bank. A guard was shot. What’s the plan?”

Lestrade sighed. “What the hell ... where did you get that from?”

“John is in the bank, Greg,” Sherlock hissed.

The DI seemed to be surprised and shocked. Surprised perhaps because Sherlock got his name right but definitely shocked about John. “Oh fuck!” was all he could respond.

“Exactly. So, what are we going to do?”

“Oh, we will do nothing, Sherlock. I asked for a negotiation expert. The alarm was activated twenty minutes ago and the hostage-takers are still in the building. They destroyed the security cameras in there but missed one which seems to be more hidden. Unfortunately it only shows a small part of the room. But we can see one of the hostages and also the offenders crossed the picture a few times.”

“Show me.”

“No, Sherlock you can’t barge in,” Lestrade looked into Sherlock eyes, sighed again and then led him to a van nearby.

“But how do you know all the details?” Lestrade insisted.

“John managed to text me. But,” Sherlock gave the man from Scotland Yard a worried look. “I didn’t hear anything from him for about ten minutes.” The thought of what could have John stopped from texting stabbed Sherlock in the gut.

\---

John had just wanted to withdraw cash at the machine. But his card hadn’t worked, once again, and because the machine hadn't called him by name and he couldn’t spot Mycroft’s car anywhere he’d come to the conclusion that this time it was for real and he’d entered the bank to sort it out. Though it was pre-Christmas time there’d been only a few other customers and he’d been glad that he wouldn’t have to queue for long. Just a moment later two disguised men with guns had stormed the branch from the front entrance, shouting, “Down on the floor, everybody, down! And shut up!” Another armed man had come from the back. John wasn’t sure if this guy had already been in there or maybe used a back entrance.

John had raised his hands and slowly got on his knees, and then he’d been nudged back to the place where he was now sitting on the floor, with his back against a counter.

Damn! Why did such things always happen to him? This morning he hadn’t been able to make an important decision and now he was a hostage in a failed bank robbery. Failed because the security guard had taken action, pulled his gun and been shot and one of the clerks had activated the alarm. Certainly these guys had planned a fast in-and-out-thing, not a longer stay with participation of the police.

They’d sworn a lot and drawn the plastic curtains to prevent anybody from getting a look inside and vice versa. The security guard was lying in a slowly growing pool of blood. John didn't have any hope for him. Shit! He wished he’d brought his gun but usually he didn’t do that in the daily routine.

A young woman sat on his right, silently crying. On his left there was a man in dirty overalls, his eyes nervously following every move of the hostage-takers.

Carefully, always observing the villains, John got his mobile out of his trouser pocket, laid it next to him on the floor, tried to hide it behind his pulled up legs, and started typing with one hand. His neighbour reacted even more nervously.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, “If they spot it.”

To John’s ears it sounded like shouting.

“Shush! Trying to get help.” John stopped short as one of the gunman looked in their direction.

“But the police ...”

“Know someone better. And now Shush!”

Altogether he sent three text messages. But then one of the villains decided to sit on the counter he was leaning against, making it too dangerous to continue texting. Hopefully Sherlock got the messages alright, because John partly typed them blind.

Each of the gunmen reacted absolutely differently to the situation. A calm guy had lifted himself up on the counter behind John. In the mirror image of the glass door opposite him, John could see that this guy was just looking around or examining his gun. Another one was standing near the entrance, only two meters away from the dead security guard, observing the hostages. The third one worried John the most because he seemed to be extremely annoyed. He restlessly walked up and down the room, fidgeted with his gun and shouted rudely at the scared hostages from time to time. He was the one who’d shot the guard.

John swallowed. Was Sherlock already outside? He must be.

\---

Sherlock was staring at the monitor. The picture showed a young man in a suit, obviously one of the clerks, sitting on the floor next to an information desk with a scared expression. His forehead was bleeding. Nothing else could be seen.

“No sound?”

“Unfortunately not, Sherlock.”

“And this camera is the only one left?”

“Yeah. I think they missed this camera because the plant, tree, whatever takes the view a bit.”

In fact there was a twig with leaves at the edge of the picture.

Suddenly a phone in the van started ringing. A police officer answered it and passed it on to Lestrade. “The hostage-takers. They called 999 to get through.”

“Put them on speaker,” Lestrade ordered, and then he answered the call, “This is Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking.”

“We need a van and free retreat.”

Sherlock gasped. John. They were using him as a spokesman. Last time someone did that, John was wearing a semtex vest around his chest. “Oh god,” Sherlock whispered. His throat was dry and he pressed his hands to his thighs Lestrade wouldn’t see how much they were shaking.

“If you try anything stupid we have hostages. You want them all back alive?”

Lestrade wanted to reply but got no chance.

“You have one hour.” The call was terminated.

“That was ...”

“John.” Sherlock ended Lestrade’s sentence. “The forced him. It sounded like he was reading something.” Sherlock closed his eyes to gather himself. John needed him. He needed John more than anything else. That was a surprising realisation in Sherlock’s mind.

He must do something. “Plans. I need plans for the building.”

\---

The calm hostage-taker nudged John to the floor again after he’d forced him, gun to head, to make the phone call and read the message scribbled on the back of a brochure. This time John found himself next to the young clerk who had activated the alarm. Fortunately the calm guy had prevented the nervous bloke from killing the clerk too and had just beaten him with his gun.

“They going to kill us,” the young lad snivelled quietly.

John tried to calm him down. “Police are already outside. In any case they need us. They have no chance to end this good for themselves otherwise.” The young man just looked down and shook his head.

John tried to brace himself. What would Sherlock do? First, have a look around. It was a smaller branch bank, just two counters. There were three clerks and, John turned his head slightly to count, seven other hostages. What else? The front door was an automatic sliding-glass door, next to a big window. He didn’t have a clue what was behind the door at the back; probably an office, a common room and toilets.

Sherlock would certainly have had several ideas already how to escape this situation, but John was stumped.

“The police need to get in here somehow. Front door. Where else? Back door? Windows?” The young lad nervously observed the rude villain, who restlessly did his rounds, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Think!” John demanded.

“Maybe there is a window into the men’s toilets. Could be big enough to... But it’s not easy to reach, because -”

The rude guy reached them. “Shut up!” he snapped at them, emphasising his words with his gun.

John raised one hand. “Okay, okay.”

A toilet window. Sherlock needed to know. But how could John tell him? He had to find a way.

In the meantime?  
Observe the villains. They were disguised, wearing some kind of ski masks. John no longer believed the hectic one to be the most dangerous. No, in his opinion the calm guy was the more dangerous now. At that moment the calm one caught John’s eye. Though John looked down immediately, he came over and kicked against John’s leg to get his attention. His voice was muted by his mask. “I know you. You and your strange friend with the hat. Do you think he’s outside?”

John tried not to show surprise on his face and pretended not to understand. “Sorry, I don’t”

He was interrupted immediately. “Robin and hat-man. Laughed a lot about that.” And then he added in a more aggressive way, “Is he there? After you texted him?”

Damn! John recognised that his unknowing façade was useless. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know.”

The masked guy crouched down in front of John and pointed his gun at him.

“I didn’t choose you for this call by accident, you know? It was a warning for that Holmes chap. Think there has to be something to follow. Get your mobile out and text him.”

\---

The plans didn’t help. No visible possibilities to get inside the branch apart from the main entrance, not even a back door.

“Sherlock, look,” Lestrade suddenly said.

And there was John on the monitor, first alone with the young clerk, obviously whispering. Then the back of one of the villains in black overalls appeared. Sherlock desperately tried to figure out what was happening but couldn’t see anything. His eyes were wandering nervously over the screen. He didn’t have a clue what to do, an unacceptable condition.

And then his mobile sounded a text alert.

“I am the next one they are going to shoot. Answer that you understand. Window. Chin” Shocked Sherlock looked up at the monitor.

A gun barrel hit John’s face brutally, he was thrown back and his head banged on the floor.

“Bloody fucking hell!”

Sherlock’s fist smashed on the controls of the video equipment and Lestrade and the police officer startled.

With narrowed eyes Sherlock took a deep breath to calm down again. He turned to Lestrade. “Out. I need to think.”

“Sherlock, the negotiation expert is going to be here any minute. We should ...”

“Out!”

Lestrade grimaced but, with a slight move of his head, indicated the officer to follow him out of the van.

\---

John felt numb after the blow. He heard and saw the hostage-taker speaking as if through a curtain.

“No more tricks. Next time you try something like that you’re dead.” John’s mobile vibrated. The villain grabbed it from the floor and read the message. “He understands.”

Suddenly he turned around and threw the mobile against the opposite wall where it broke into pieces.

“Oh yes, he’d better,” he hissed to John before leaving him.

\---

After Sherlock had texted back he read John’s message again and again, keeping one eye on the monitor. John was still lying on the floor, carefully touching his bleeding nose.

The villain had had a reason for beating him. What was it?

“Window ... chin,” Sherlock mumbled. It was the only part of the message that didn’t make sense.

Different words appeared in his mind palace. Chin, chine, chink, Chinese, China ... Chinese!

But why should John ...? Suddenly his face lit up.

“Oh John, you are incredibly smart,” he proudly admitted. He reached for the plans again and let his eyes search for the right hint.

Window and Chinese. Certainly John didn’t think of Chinese restaurants with a good view in this situation. They only had one case together where Chinese were involved, “The Blind Banker”, as John “nicely” named it in his blog. And there had been an acrobat who was able to get in everywhere; even if it seemed impossible at first sight.

Lestrade stuck his head in. “Anything new, Sherlock?” Sherlock waved him nearer. “I need your eyes, Graham. We have to find a window that’s difficult to reach. Obviously at the side or back of the building.”

Lestrade joined Sherlock and he found something. “There’s a small window. Seems to be in a toilet. Why do you need this?”

“Brilliant. I’m going in.”

“You’re doing what?”

“You understood me. Let’s have a look. Unfortunately I’m not a cat burglar and might need some help.”

Sherlock jumped out of the van and was followed by a puzzled Detective Inspector.

\---

John was able to sit up again. He was still dizzy, had a stabbing pain in his head and his nose hurt. He was leaning against the information desk and the young clerk passed him a tissue.

Now John was just hoping that Sherlock got the hint he couldn’t finish in his text message. The villains were on edge and John was sure that an escape attempt wouldn’t work. If the police went in for something; and they had to - everything would get out of control. The one who silently stood near the entrance the whole time was now sent to the rear part of the branch by the calm one who seemed to be the leader.

John observed what happened through a veil in front of his eyes.

Since his childhood days John hadn’t hoped to celebrate Christmas so much.

\---

The window was at the back of the building on the upper floor. A quick look showed Sherlock that he could use a fire escape to get there. Lestrade once again tried telling him not to do it but of course that was useless.

Sherlock jumped, grabbed the fire escape, climbed up and pushed himself along the house wall on a narrow spur until he reached the window, which fortunately had been left ajar. The window was really small, but after he got rid of his coat and scarf by carelessly throwing them back down on the street Sherlock just managed to squeeze himself through.

He found himself in the men’s bathroom. He realised only now that he had no plan for what to do next. He had been that keen on getting into the building that his normally brilliantly working mind had skipped to follow. He reached for his trouser pocket. Yes, John’s gun was still in it. He’d taken it before leaving Baker Street, just in case.

In this moment he heard footsteps outside. Sherlock vanished into one of the cubicles, just in time to hide himself from someone entering the toilets. It had to be one of the villains. Sherlock doubted anyone else was allowed to walk around. He listened attentively, trying to figure out where exactly this guy was standing; which wasn’t that easy since his own breathing sounded extremely loud. A flush, and then a tap was turned on. A clean criminal, Sherlock thought sarcastically. He needed to use the element of surprise. Fast. He rushed out of the cubicle and knocked the masked man down using John’s gun. And then, looking down on the stock-still body he had an idea.

\---

John had a look at the clock on the wall. It seemed to him like ages, but actually only slightly more than an hour had passed since he had entered the bank and all this had happened. He wondered what Sherlock was doing right now.

The calm one joined him once again. “You’re alright?” John only glared at him.

“Broken nose, ey? Bad luck. But that happens when you do stupid things. My friend,” he nodded to the nervous bloke “would certainly have gone further. He is a bit unpredictable.”

“Do you really think that’s going to work?” John’s voice sounded strained.

“What?”

“Your plan for escape.”

The villain laughed. “It had better. How many deaths are there going to be otherwise? If only a little thing goes wrong he,” again he pointed at the nervous guy “will lose his nerve. And then I will also be running for cover.”

“Yeah, he shot the security guard, but you and the other guy still could get away with robbery. A good lawyer...”

“Ah, shut up. That’s not an option.”

Right at that moment the third hostage-taker came back from the rear part of the building.

“Everything’s quiet?” the presumable leader asked.

The other guy didn’t answer, just nodded with his head bowed.

The leader waved him nearer and gave him an order, pointing at John. “Keep an eye on this bloke. He’s always good for an unpleasant surprise.” The calm one left John to have a careful look outside through the edge of the curtains.

John was a bit relieved that he didn’t give the order to the nervous guy. One false move, even a slight one could be the last straw.

John’s minder was standing near to him, so close that he touched John’s pulled up legs with his shin. Annoyed John looked up and met eyes gazing at him through the sight of the mask. Sherlock’s eyes, unmistakable. John gasped. Subtly Sherlock shook his head.

Christ, Sherlock, what are you doing? John thought and he nervously stared at the villains and back at Sherlock.

“Strong enough to take one?” Sherlock was hard to understand, whispering through the mask. John knew he had to be strong enough, so he nodded.

“We wait. When they’re standing together I will shoot at their legs. Then you'll go for the left one, me the right one. Okay?” Sherlock went on. Sherlock had expected John to reach for his gun but he still seemed puzzled.

The young clerk also started to whisper. “What’s going ...” but a nudge and a warning look from John silenced him immediately.

Both Sherlock and John started to observe every move of the masked men, waiting for the right moment, being ready to attack at any time. Unfortunately they always stood quite far from each other. It was too dangerous to shoot one of them because the other one had too much time to react. The minutes passed by.

Sherlock realised that his plan was poorly thought out. Not good, definitely not good.

Suddenly the calm villain came over again. Damn!

“They take their time, ey? They’re willing to take risks. What do you think?”

The question went to Sherlock’s direction who just nodded.

“Fuck, did you lose your voice or what?” The villain came nearer, and hesitated.

“Now!” Sherlock shouted and lunged at the guy. John jumped up and ran over to the other villain, forgetting about the pain he was in. But he wasn’t fast enough and the criminal was able to shoot. With a loud yell John continued his attack. He reached the man and knocked him down by punching in the temple. Then he collapsed over that guy.

Sherlock was also able to overwhelm his opponent very quickly. He pulled the mask off his head and threw his gun to the young clerk. “Here. Your turn.” He pointed at the unconscious hostage-taker and ran over to John.

“John ... fuck, John.”

He carefully turned John’s motionless body around and pulled him away from the unconscious villain.

He could see that John was bleeding. This damned fucking arsehole shot John in his leg.

“John, come on, John, please, don’t ...”

John opened his eyes. He swallowed. “Calm down, Sherlock, it’s just a graze. Nevertheless it fucking hurts.”

“Are you sure?” Sherlock looked worried at John’s bleeding thigh.

John showed a forced smile. “Did you forget? I am a doctor.”

The main door crashed open and Lestrade and his men stormed in.

\---

The party was over. The last one to leave had been Lestrade sometime around 2 a.m., and not really sober anymore. John wanted to call a cab for him but Lestrade suggested calling Donovan instead. Before John or Sherlock could keep him from doing it, he had already dialled her number on his mobile and gave “order” to pick him up. Of course she didn’t and Lestrade left mumbling something about needing fresh air and so on.

 

 

Even Mycroft had shown up for an hour, probably only to update his files on the attendees with personal information.

Surprisingly Sherlock had enjoyed the party quite a lot. He’d played the violin, they’d had canapés and drinks, and he had nearly been able to relax. The last party he remembered attending was during his time at university. He’d taken part just to study people’s change of behaviour under the influence of alcohol. The paper he’d published afterwards hadn't found many fans because he’d mentioned quite a few fellow students by name.

Now Sherlock was alone in the living room. John had gone upstairs not long ago. Time to do something useful. Sherlock sat down in his armchair, stretched his legs and placed his notebook on his lap. But he wasn’t able to concentrate. He put his fingertips together and stared into space. He just couldn’t stop thinking. Why had he cared so much for John during the bank robbery?

Of course they’d been in many dangerous situations together before but this time Sherlock hadn't felt any thrill. His mind had just been filled with the fear of losing John. He had acted completely illogical; a fact that had been impossible before John moved into 221b Baker Street. Sherlock mused on his desire to not letting John go when he hugged him after everything was over, the deep gaze they had exchanged. And that amazing indescribable feeling in his stomach when John’s and his lips touched for a brief kiss, noticed by none in the hectic pace, before John was brought to the ambulance.

Sherlock had read a lot about this special feeling, this feeling called love, about its chemistry and results. But he hadn't been able to imagine himself feeling it someday.

After leaving the hospital, being assured that John “only” had a broken nose, a graze to his left leg and a mild concussion, life had gone on as usual.

Really?

Sherlock wasn’t sure about that. They hadn’t spoken about the kiss and also hadn’t repeated it. But something had definitely changed. They touched each other casually more often, on arms, hands, shoulders, chest and back. And Sherlock observed John much more than he used to, and in a different way, when John wasn’t aware of it. How John’s hands typed his blog, his facial expressions when he read the newspaper, how he sat in his armchair with closed eyes stroking his injured thigh while listening to Sherlock playing the violin, his shape under the blanket when he was staying in bed the whole day after his discharge from hospital.

So that kiss, had it just been an overreaction because of adrenalin and relief? How did John feel?

Lost in thoughts Sherlock let his eyes roam and spotted a little red box on the mantelpiece right next to the skull. A present someone forgot? No, there hadn't been anything after Lestrade had left. Sherlock stood up and took the box. A small card was stuck to it. “Merry Christmas Sherlock”, in John’s handwriting. Oh no! Didn’t they agree to leave all that stuff? He would return it immediately the next morning. He put it back but then decided to take just a quick look. He opened it and lost his breath for a second.

His heart beat faster and his eyes were burning as he took out the little item, turning it between his fingers ... the Celtic amulet.


End file.
